Fathers and Sons
by etain anders
Summary: AU. It's just another night in Gotham for Robin... until someone new shows up. Main characters: Tim Robin & Kon Superboy. Secondary characters: Batman, Superman, Luthor, Impulse, Batgirl, Spoiler, Nightwing, & more. No OCs in large roles.
1. Oops, Was That Your Mask?

**Author's Notes:**

Feedback? Please? I promise to respond, though it might take awhile.

Also, since Tim is fourteen, while there will probably be plenty of talking about sex (Kon _is_ one of the main characters), I plan to keep any actual romances fairly tame, and no Tim/Kon (though what you see in the subtext is up to you). Anyway, opinions on this? Suggestions? Please, tell me about any corrections I need to make, as well as ideas for the rest of the fic. Much inspiration has been drawn from reviews.

_Working Title:_ **FATHERS AND SONS**

It was almost 6 AM, and Tim was desperately longing for his bed. The early-spring chill in the air was enough to keep him awake, but even he was unused to staying up this late. _And I would have been in bed hours ago except for that disaster of a chase._ He had spent half the night chasing a suspected murderer, all of it wasted because in the end, the man eluded him.

Tim was making a last pass through an older, poorer, and as such more crime-ridden part of Gotham when a shifting of shadows in an alley caught his attention. He landed on a near roof and crept closer. The grey pre-dawn light meant that at this point his night vision goggles were more hazard than help. It was a man: tall, Caucasian, probably mid-thirties, and, Tim frowned, with a bulge under his jacket that meant he was carrying a gun. Looking closer, he saw the man hunch over slightly, bringing a hand up to his ear. Tim made the connection—_communicator_—instantly, and flicked his eyes around just in case. There were two other men, similarly attired, on that block alone.

Tim's frown deepened. The men showed no signs of being security, and he didn't recognize them from the police or federal databases he had hacked. Which meant they were likely criminals. Highly organized criminals. _Great. I hate it when they get smarter._

The three men were moving southwest, further into the maze of run down buildings, and the dark alleys within them. The fourth man was scarcely a block away when Tim caught sight of him and put the pieces together. This man was wearing a leather jacket over a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, and had a beat-up canvas duffle slung over one broad shoulder. His long legs ate up the distance between himself and the others stalking him.

Tim crouched on the roof, batarang in hand, and watched.

It was only took a few minutes for the several cats to corner their mouse in the alley behind the building Tim was on. The pursued stopped, and turned around to face the other men. "Only three of you? I think I'm insulted." His voice was insolent--and young.

One of the men spoke. "C'mon kid, you come with us willing, and we won't have to hurt you."

"Much," another added.

The—kid? —snorted and shoved back his hood, eyes glinting and cheeks flushed in anger. "'Fraid I can't say the same for you. Now can we stop with the not-so-witty banter and get on with it?"

One of the men grinned and pulled out a tazer. Before Tim could move, the kid had landed a blow to his wrist another to his stomach. One thug down, two to go. Tim's eyebrows rose. The guy wasn't hurting the others anymore than Tim would have—well not on a bad night anyway—and he obviously didn't need any help. Tim winced in sympathy when, after twisting one thug's wrist and fending off another with his other arm, the guy rammed his knee into the first's groin. The thug managed to gasp out "…not…fair," before doubling over.

The guy scoffed. "And three-to-one is?" before punching the third in the head. The guy looked at the sprawled bodies around him and shook his head. He began walking away when a cell phone rang. Inside the space of a second he tensed up far more than he had when he'd found out he was cornered, and turned back, glaring at the ringing bulge in the man's jacket as though it had mortally insulted him. He pulled out the phone and flipped it open. "Enjoy the show?"

Tim couldn't hear the response, but whatever it was it made the guy even more furious. "You—I can't believe you're lecturing me on how to fight off _your_ goons!" A pause and then, "I'll fucking well raise my voice to you if I want! You are _not_ my father anymore!"

Tim tried very hard to keep his jaw from dropping. It was a look too undignified for a Bat to wear. _And I thought my family was messed up._

The guy continued. "Shut up! You lost that right when I found out that—when I found out. You don't get a say in my life anymore. So don't call, don't write, don't visit, and _don't_ send your fucking minions after me!" The other man responded, and whatever he said, it made the guy look as though the thug had got him with the tazer after all. "Care? You don't care about anything, least of all me. All you've done is hurt—" he choked on the words. "Just—just fuck off, _Dad_."

He snapped the phone closed, and glared at it. The next events were more a series of sounds than sights. A broken sob, the crunching of plastic as the phone splintered in the kid's grip, the screech of rending metal as he threw it hard enough to punch _through_ a nearby dumpster. Tim gasped. _Meta_. A _very strong_ Meta. In Gotham. _Ohcrap. I do _not_ want to be the one to tell Bruce about this. He'll blow a fuse._

The guy had tensed, and for a moment Tim worried he'd been heard. But then the kid moved off, and Tim relaxed, and began following along the rooftops. He needed to see where the guy went before heading back to the cave. Tim bit back a curse when the kid headed into a tunnel on the railroad tracks. He much preferred following from above—it was easier, and gave him a definite advantage. Not to mention that he had no desire to come in range of the meta's fists without knowing more about him.

Once on the ground, he crept into the tunnel. And was promptly caught up and slammed against the wall in a grip like nothing he had felt before. "Wow. My very own super-hero stalker. I feel so flattered." As the stars in front of his eyes faded, Tim could see the kid looming above him, hand around his throat. Which did not explain the feeling of an invisible, nearly intangible cocoon wrapped almost painfully tight around him from head to toe. Tim fought down the instinctive flare of panic. _What the hell?_

The guy smirked. "What, nothing to say? Oh that's right. You can't speak. Guess you'll just have to listen then. _Robin_." The panic Tim had felt was rapidly fading as a new emotion took its place—anger. _Arrogant jerk. If I could get free I'd wipe that smug look off your face with my boot._

"Here's the problem, Rob. You've seen me, and what I can do, and I expect you're just itching to run straight back to Batman and tell him all about it… and I can't let that happen. So I figure—let's even things out some. You've seen my face—I want a look at yours." Tim stared in rising horror as the Meta reached his free hand toward the domino mask on his face.

Tim's mask hit the floor, and a split second later, a camera flashed in front of his eyes. His knees gave out as he was suddenly released from the restricting grip. He snatched up his mask, glue still wet, and slapped it back on his face, then looked up at the kid who was tucking a mini camera into his jacket, watching him with a solemn expression at odds with his conceited behavior just moments before.

Tim glared, rose, and in his best Batman-inspired-'I-am-three-seconds-from-breaking-you-in-half'-voice said, "Give. Me. That. Camera."

The guy cocked an eyebrow, and gave him an amused smile. "Nice. But I've heard better."

Tim gritted his teeth. That was _not_ the usual response. "What do you want?"

"What don't I want? But from you—that's easy. I want you not to tell Batman about me."

"No."

The Meta sighed. "Look, if I was a bad guy I'd have killed you to stop you talking, and those other idiots too. I'm not going to hurt anyone who doesn't try to hurt me first, or commit any crimes—well, not any that would get me so much as night in jail. So you can go back to your bat cave with a clear conscience."

Tim's throat closed up with fear. _Batcave_. _What does he know?_ "Who are you?"

The guy eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. "What the hell. I'll know your name soon enough, you might as well know mine." He hesitated. "I'm... Kon."

Tim filed that away as he said, "That's not what I asked."

The guy smiled. It was a surprisingly nice smile, if rather sad. "You mean who am I in relation to others, or what am I to have these abilities." Tim opened his mouth, but the Meta—Kon—cut him off. "It doesn't matter—either way I'm not sure at all anymore." The guy started walking away, calling back, "Remember, Rob, you tell, I tell. So keep my secret and I'll keep yours."

It was several minutes before a tight-lipped Robin emerged from the tunnel, and headed out into what was left of the night.

_Crappiest. Night. Ever._


	2. A Whole New Headache

Once Tim got back to the cave, he stripped out of his suit and showered quickly. Dressing, he paused in front of the computer. Granted, it would take far less time to search for information on who the Meta, _Kon_, was on the cave's powerful computers. On the other hand, if Batman checked what he was searching for, Tim would have no excuse to make.

And he couldn't risk telling Batman. He had no idea what the Meta's powers were, and if they included telepathy or the ability to sense lies, Tim was screwed. He sighed. It would have to be his school's computers, or nothing.

ooooooooo

_Great. Just great. Half an hour just to hack into the damn server, and it's worthless. None of his powers match any of the descriptions. His name brings up nothing. Even the identities of the thugs who attacked him are no help—they've worked for practically everyone._ Tim softly cursed and sat back in the uncomfortable plastic chair, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. He shot a glance at his watch, and then closed the program, wiping the hard drive as he did and implanting a subtle virus—the IT people they called to come check it out would put it down as a system malfunction, and this way no one would be able to see what he'd been doing. Grabbing his bag, he headed off to class.

ooooooooo

It had been three days since Tim had met the Meta, and all his searching had amounted to zilch. He'd dug up the remains of the phone, but it was too badly damaged to get anything out of, and the make and model were among the most common out there. The rent-a-thugs had disappeared, and with them Tim's last lead. On the other hand, the Meta hadn't shown up again, so perhaps Tim's luck was turning.

"So. What's up?"

Only years of practice kept Tim from freezing up mid-swing. Dropping onto a near roof, he spun to face the Meta, snapping out his Bo staff and falling into a defensive crouch.

The guy's eyebrows shot up and he came to a halt, floating several feet away. "Whoa!" He raised his hands. "Don't shoot, I'm unarmed."

Tim's eyes narrowed. "If you're here to try threatening me again--"

"No! I mean, um, no. That's, I wouldn't have done that in the first place except that I really don't want to deal with Batman. And it's not like you don't already know I have secret super powers!" he added indignantly.

"You're floating mid-air thirty stories up. In public. Without a mask. Yes, I can see those are definitely _secret_ powers."

The Meta rolled his eyes. "Dude. It's the middle of the night. And also? If anyone get a picture of this, I think they'll be a lot more focused on the whole "Urban Legend Vigilante" next to me."

It only added to Tim's irritation that he did, in fact, have a point. "If you're not here to blackmail me, then what do you want?"

The guy opened his mouth, then closed, looking, for the first time, rather sheepish. "Um. I wanted to hang out?"

Tim blinked. "You wanted to... 'hang out.'" The guy nodded eagerly. "With me." The guy nodded again. "The vigilante you last night assaulted and threatened to expose and thereby sentence to death."

"Okay, I think 'assaulted' is a bit--"

"Are you _insane?"_

"I--"

"Schizophrenic? Bipolar? In desperate need of a—"

The guy cut him off. "I'm bored!"

Tim felt a tense heat at his temples signaling the start of the sort of headache usually brought on by playing go-between for Bruce and Dick or having to work with (read: baby-sit) Impulse for any extended period of time. "You're bored."

"Yes!" The Meta looked relieved Tim had finally gotten the point. "I mean, no offense man, but this city sucks! The people are all gloom and doom, and all the nightlife involves crime. There's nothing to _do_ here."

"So you decided to come bother me."

The Meta shrugged. "Hey, I'm a social kind of guy, and you're the only person in town I know. Plus, you're kinda funny."

Tim very carefully did not choke on his tongue. "I'm _what_?"

"Funny. You know, with the sarcastic remarks and the --- and the shrieky thing your voice does when I say something you... don't... like..." The guy trailed off, eyeing Tim's murderous expression, and moved back a foot. "Um. Yeah."

Tim felt a headache begin to throb. He was quite fond of Gotham's usual villains. The average would-be mugger or rapist might not have provided much in the way of intellectual stimulation, but they made excellent punching bags. That and the occasional encounter with another of the Rogue's Gallery was more than enough excitement for Tim. This Meta was too strong to fight, knew just enough to be very dangerous, and appeared to have special abilities solely for annoying Tim. He also appeared to have no intention of leaving.

"I have work to do," Tim snapped out tensely.

"What, more beating up bad guys?"

"N--close enough, yes."

"Cool. I'll watch."

Tim gritted his teeth.

ooooooooo

"So then I said--'Hey if you're going to get all PSM-ing just because I _happened_ to be out on a date with another girl when you called, maybe we shouldn't go out any more.' And then she was all, 'You don't get to break up with me, I'm breaking up with you!' And all I said, _all I said_ was 'Break up? We weren't _dating_ we were just having fun.' And that's when she screamed and tried to rip my throat out, can you believe it? Man, some girls are _so_ uptight. Don't you think? Hey, Rob, still talking to you."

"I heard you." Tim dropped down on top of the gang member, thankful for the steel in his boots heels.

"Well, you didn't _say_ anything, man."

"I didn't realize you needed another person to carry on a conversation."

"What's that supposed to--oh, hey, thanks a lot. Y'know, I wouldn't be talking so much if you'd just talk at _all_, man."

Tim snorted and snapped out his staff, catching another on the chin and following it up with a kick to his stomach. "I'm. Busy."

"Come on, man, it's not like I'm distracting you," Kon said, absently catching the gun that Tim kicked out of the man's hand and twisting into new shapes. Tim wondered if he knew how disturbing that was to watch.

"Don't you have anyone else you could go annoy?"

"Oh, 'annoy,' that's real nice man, I try to entertain you—"

"You're not Leno."

"—help with your 'criminal bashing'—"

"Metal sculpture is not 'help.'"

"—and all you can do is tell me to go away?"

"For the past _two hours,_ yes."

"Jerk."

"Idiot."

"But lucky for you I am such a cool guy (and also so totally bored), that I will ignore your incredible meanness and your bad fashion sense and hang out with you anyway."

Tim ground his teeth. The Meta wasn't actually as much a nuisance as he'd implied, but Tim had nicely compartmentalized his life—'hanging out' did not fit into 'patrolling Gotham.' Also, the kid was unbelievably arrogant. If he'd been a blonde, Tim would have considered calling up Green Arrow to see if he had any more illegitimate and unknown children around. "Aren't you worried Batman could show up?"

"Oh please. Everybody knows he ditched you and Gotham for the JLA."

That hurt in a way quips about his costume hadn't. "Like your dad ditched you?" Tim asked coldly.

The Meta—_Kon's_—face darkened, and an unmistakable hurt flashed through his eyes. "Well, fuck you too, Rob." He took off from the ledge, disappearing into the night sky in a matter of seconds.

_Good_. Tim was not going to feel badly about that.

"Hey kid, piss off your friend?" The last man croaked out. Tim's fist lashed out, and the man collapsed, now with several loosened teeth.

He was _not_.

FIN


	3. Tim's No Good, Very Bad Day

The Joker was cackling madly as he swung the crowbar down again onto Tim's shin, the pain a white-hot flare as muscle tore and bone crunched. Tim bit back a scream and tried again desperately to make his body move but he could barely twitch. The Joker raised the crowbar and opened his mouth, letting out a blaring electronic ring.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-

Tim shot up in bed and slammed his hand down on top of the alarm. He was breathing harshly and his shirt stuck to his back, damp with cold sweat. "Shit," Tim said aloud.

"That's no way for a polite young man like yourself to talk," said Mrs. Mac, bustling into the room. She stopped and looked at Tim. "My goodness! Are you all right Timothy? You look awful!"

Tim shook his head and ran his fingers through his damp hair. _Game face on, Robin_ he reminded himself. "I'm fine, Mrs. Mac, Just a bad dream. No big."

She was still staring, but her face creased in sympathy. "Oh, Timmy. Was it about your parents?"

Tim bit back a bitter laugh at the knowledge that his mother's murder and his father's seemingly permanent coma were actually _not_ the worst things he could dream about. "No. Um, gym actually. I, uh, fell off the rope we had to climb." _Lame, lame, lame._

"Oh, poor boy, I do hate falling dreams. So awful to wake up from."

"Yeah. Awful."

ooooooooo

Stuffing his books into his bag, Tim slung it over his shoulder and ran out the door. He reached the street just in time to see the bus pull away. "No!" Frustrated, he threw his bag to the ground. "Unbelievable, it's like the morning from hell."

ooooooooo

"Tim! There you are!" Arianna hurried up toward him, frown lines creasing her forehead.

"Oh, hey," Tim said, setting down his sandwich, and wiping his hands on his napkin.

"I've been looking for you _all_ _day!_" she kissed him on the cheek before sitting down at the table. "I wanted to ask you about Friday night."

"Um, Friday?" Tim picked up his Zesti and took a drink. The hell was happening on Friday? Besides his stakeout of Fairview Towers, that is. Rumor was, Blockbuster was expanding from his current haunt in Metropolis and the largely abandoned Towers had been showing remarkable signs of life lately—lots of heavily armed men moving boxes Tim couldn't identify into it.

"Ahh! Tim, I swear, you're the sweetest guy I know, but I think sometimes you've a worse memory than the cheerleaders!"

Tim just smiled at her, and she blushed. "Anyway, Friday is the party at Melinda Graves' house, remember?"

"It—is?"

"_Yes_. And before you say something I don't want to hear, you _promised_ i/ to go with me _and_ to dance at least twice."

Tim swallowed. _Oh shit._ He could not miss the stakeout. He'd promised Bruce, and there was no one else who could investigate. The information Oracle had gotten was too vague to be of use, Nightwing was busy, Batgirl didn't have the experience necessary for this, and Tim could easily picture the look on Bruce's face if he passed the job off to Huntress or Jean-Paul in order to go to a party. _Shit_.

"Um, Arianna… Look, you know I want to go, but—"

She set down her soda can with a loud clunk. "Oh, no. You are _not_ about to say what I think you are."

"I can't go."

"Tim!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Tim you promised me _two weeks_ ago that you'd be free for this night!" Arianna was red-faced and her eyes were starting to look a little glassy.

"I really do want to go, I just—I have—I have to go out of town," he said, improvising.

"Out of town."

"Yes!" Tim said, trying to keep the gratefulness in his voice to a minimum. "My, um, my mom's cousin, well, actually _her_ mother's cousin, she's really old, and she's having some difficulties with her heart, which is why she's in the hospital, and I promised I go be a good… grand-cousin and visit her."

Arianna sat back in her seat. "Your mother's cousin," she said quietly.

"Yes. Ari, I'm so, so sorry, but I just—I just have to do this. If I'd remembered about the party, I'd have warned you earlier…"

"Tim."

"What?"

"You mother doesn't have any relatives. The family tree project for Social Sciences, remember?"

Tim was speechless, in addition to being irritated with himself. _When the hell did I get so bad at lying?_ "I, um, well I mostly focused on my dad's side, because it—"

"If you didn't want to go with me, you could have just said," Arianna said quietly. Her eyes were more than just glassy, and her voice shook.

Tim swallowed back guilt. "I do! I really do, I love being with you, I—"

"Are you?" she asked quietly. "Because I really can't tell anymore." She got up and left, leaving her lunch behind.

Tim crumpled up his can and threw it at the tree, before sighing and slumping down in his seat. "Fuck, could this day get _any_ worse?"

"Mr. Drake! Littering and bad language are against the rules, you know that. I'll see you after school." The lunchroom chaperone, Ms. Monroe, stalked off.

_Yes. Yes it could._

ooooooooo

Tim shot his grapple line off into the air, hooking around the foot of a gargoyle. Swinging around the corner of the old McGinnis building, he flew across the street and landed in a crouch on top of the building next to it. He disappeared into the shadows of the broken air conditioners, and settled in for a long wait.

He could have been at the party right now, as opposed to stuck on a broken glass-covered concrete roof, sitting next to an air duct that smelled like someone's old socks, waiting, _hoping_, for a break in this case. Which would probably take hours, if it happened at all. And granted, so he didn't really like parties, but at the very least he could be out actually fighting crime. Tim knew the statistics for Gotham like he knew his own Social Security number. Average of 4 rapes per night, 2 murders, 7 muggings, 5 break-ins, and a drug trade that flourished ever more at night. He could be out _stopping_ some of that if only Bruce was willing to do his _own_ work—no.

Tim was not going to start thinking like that. Bruce gave him the suit, made him Robin. He owed the man his loyalty and respect. He picked up the binoculars and started in on a long evening.

ooooooooo

Five hours later he had a whole bunch of nothing. Only two men had come out of the building during that time. Tim took a chance and tailed them (largely because his ass was going numb and even his impressive patience was fraying) and then watched in disgust as they engaged dangerous and illegal action of buying chili dogs off a street vendor this late at night. That was the entirety of the night. Even if he could break in (and the shadows at the boarded-up windows suggested that doing so would be far too risky without backup, he was under orders to observe only.

Finally, Tim called it a night. He had at least managed to get tracers on the men's vehicles; Oracle would monitor where they went, and perhaps by the next evening he'd have something to do.

Tim was crossing over 23rd street, hooking his grapple on the top of an old building that housed a Wayne Enterprises subsidiary when he felt more than saw the shadow flit overhead.

Behind the mask, he rolled his eyes. He'd had four whole days free of that damned idiot, and now he was back? _Might as well get it over with._ He used the second line to cut his speed, and jumped onto the fire escape scaling the outside of the building. Ten seconds later he was on the roof, waiting.

"Um. Hey."

"Do you always start conversations like this?"

The Meta gave him a confused look. "Like what?"

"Never mind. What do you want?"

The guy shrugged. "Who says I want anything? I'm just—"

"Let me guess—bored?"

He laughed. "Yeah, pretty much."

Tim had already had a rotten night, on top of a rotten day, and just the fact that anyone could be feel happy enough to laugh at the moment made him unreasonably angry. "Well, I'm not your entertainment, so get lost."

The guy's eyebrows shot up. "Whoa! What crawled up you panties and died?"

"Nothing. I just don't have the patience to put up with you right now, so go find someone else to make miserable."

"Okay seriously, what happened to you?"

"I. Am. Fine. Now go away."

The Meta eyed him skeptically. "You're fine. Uh huh. That's why you're so tense it's making me hurt to look at you and if you keep up your going to grind your teeth down to the roots." He paused. "Look, maybe you should talk about what's bothering you."

"To whom?"

"Uh, me?"

"Yes, I'll just open up to you and we'll have a deep and heartfelt talk about my _feelings_," Tim said scathingly. "I don't even _know_ you."

Kon looked at his feet. "You heard that phone call from my dad."

Tim opened his mouth and then shut it again.

"So… you already know something about me. And I ran away to no one, and the only person I hang out with is you—so c'mon man, at least you've got people to argue with at the moment. No way you're more pathetic than me." Kon shrugged and gave a half-smile that wasn't really a smile at all.

Tim swallowed. _Just because he opened up to you, doesn't mean you have to do the same_ he reminded himself. _You don't know him, you can't trust him, you wouldn't even be talking to him if he hadn't pulled off your mask and blackmailed you into lying to Bruce and_—"I had a fight with my girlfriend," he said, choosing the simplest problem.

Kon's eyebrows shot up. "You have a girlfriend? _Robin_ has a girlfriend?"

Tim cursed. "I—the person I am when I'm not wearing the mask has—you know what, never mind. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Whoa, whoa, you can't cut me off now!" Kon protested. "And here I was thinking you're so grumpy you must not be getting laid."

"Do you _ever_ think about what's going to come out of your mouth?"

"Not really, and don't change the subject. Tell me about this girl."

"No."

"C'mon, is she hot?"

"I'm not discussing this."

"What, is she ugly?"

"N—I'm _not_ discussing this."

"Okay, not ugly. So, um, she's fat. She's… older. She's… pregnant with Batman's baby and you're pissed that they were getting busy behind your back."

Tim's evil brain momentarily pictured for him what a meeting between Batman and Arianna would be like—him glaring, her fainting, and smirked slightly."

"Hah! I saw a smile, Robbie."

"I was thinking about something else."

"Yeah, right. So why'd you fight?"

"No reason."

"C'mon, man, who am I gonna tell, anyway? Give a little here, would you?"

Give. That was all anyone had been asking him to do lately, give and give and give and suddenly it was just too much and Tim snapped. "A little? How much more do I have left! I'm arguing with my girlfriend because I can't make time for her since being Robin takes priority. But I can't patrol because Batman's got me stuck on surveillance duty, instead of something useful!"

Kon blinked, shocked. But Tim ranted on.

"My housekeeper thinks I need to see a shrink because I'm not getting enough sleep, my girlfriend thinks I don't like her anymore because I never see her outside of school, and Batman… Batman isn't around. I'm supposed to be his _partner_, to work with him protecting Gotham. But I don't know where the hell he is these days. Huntress is with the Birds, so is Oracle, Nightwing's got his own city to worry about, Azrael isn't remotely dependable, and Batgirl does her own thing. I'm the only thing standing between Gotham and chaos and I'm worrying about how to finish my Trig before Monday's test and it's fucking _ridiculous_!" Tim threw his staff to the ground, breathing harshly.

Kon's mouth was open. Silence reigned long enough for Tim to begin to feel very stupid, before he spoke. "I'm sorry man. I didn't realize Batman was—a sore spot. Like _really_."

Tim closed his eyes. _He would have to pick up on that, wouldn't he?_ "Yeah. Look, it's fine. I'm just—tired. I'll be fine."

Kon nodded slowly. "I don't doubt it man, but… you were right, you shouldn't have to do this on your own."

Tim shrugged. "I'm used to it. And there's no one else."

Kon fidgeted for a moment. "Well… there's kind of—me."

Tim stared. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

"Wh—no I'm not kidding you, man," Kon looked indignant. "Why not? You need help, and hey, it's not like I've got anything better to do."

Tim forced down the hysterical laugh that wanted to emerge. "You—no."

"Why the hell not?"

"For one thing, Batman would _kill_ me if I let a Meta work in Gotham."

"So, don't 'let me.' Just accept that I'm stronger than you and I'm gonna do it anyway. Just—point me in the directions where I can do good. That's not 'letting.' That's just making the most of a bad situation."

It was actually sensible. "I don't know you. I don't _trust_ you."

Kon shrugged. "Yeah, well, call it surveillance on your part. What's the saying, anyway? 'Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your unknown wildcards closest of all?'"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't heard that last part."

Kon looked embarrassed. "Um. Found it on the internet." He floated down to stand in front of Tim. "So. How 'bout it?"

_I cannot seriously be considering this._ "Fine. But you take all responsibility for your own actions. Screw up, and you don't get to blame me."

"Hey, no problem. Totally used to it, dude. So," he said reaching out a hand. "Are we, um, well, whatever the hell we are anyway?"

Tim hesitated, then nodded, and reached out his own hand. Gauntlet met invulnerable skin in a tight clasp. "Yeah. We are."

FIN


	4. Beginning

Chapter 4

Tim set out normally the next evening. He'd spent the day avoiding calls from his acquaintances at school who doubtlessly wanted to know what was going on between himself and Arianna; as Tim didn't have an answer, he shut off the ringer and spent the day alternately studying and worrying that he'd made the wrong decision in regards to Kon.

He did need the help. Batman was gone for the week—a JLA mission off-planet—so it wasn't like Tim could ask permission (not that he would—he wasn't suicidal). But that still didn't answer the question of how to handle working with another person when Tim was in charge.

His only other experience was with Impulse, and somehow he doubted that "Do what I say and I'll buy you your own candy shop" was going to work with Kon. "Do what I say and I'll introduce you to Catwoman" might, but Tim didn't feel like being on the wrong end of her whip (which would definitely happen if he set a horny teenage meta after her).

No. He was going to have to learn how to lead.

Four hours, "The Art of War," "The Prince," and the first three volumes of "Great Leaders of Our Time" later, Tim was still no more prepared. He shoved the books off his bed and flopped back onto it. _I give up. I'll just wing it. Really, how hard could it be, anyway?_

ooooooooo

"I. Cannot. _Believe_ you! Do you have a functioning brain at all!"

"Oh come on. It wasn't that bad."

"You BLEW UP THE BUILDING, Kon! It was exactly that bad!"

"What?" Kon asked defensively. "Okay, so I shouldn't have tossed that guy with the cigarette, but how was I supposed to know those containers were full of gasoline?"

"How about the writing on the sides saying 'Gotham Propane Co.'?" Tim asked icily.

"It was dark, there was fighting, yadda yadda, easy to miss," Kon said dismissively, then caught sight of Tim's furious face and sighed. "Okay, so we screwed up."

"You. YOU screwed up."

"Fine. _I_ did it. But hey, we caught the bad guys, so that's a win, right?"

"And destroyed all of the evidence. They'll be back on the streets in 24 hours," Tim said wearily.

Kon looked at his feet. "Oh. Um, I hadn't thought of that."

"You don't think at _all_."

"Hey, I think," Kon protested. "Just… I'm not used to thinking about stuff like this. Important stuff."

"I know." Tim sighed. "Look, I appreciate your offer to help, but I think I'm better off doing this solo."

"No, wait, c'mon man! You still need help, right?"

Tim pressed his lips together. "Gotham… will have to get by with just me. You don't _know_ enough to be useful, Kon, you're more of a hazard than anything."

Kon looked both hurt and offended. For a moment Tim was certain he'd fly off, and that would be the end of it. Then something passed over his face—it looked a lot like pain, anger, and determination. "Teach me."

"What?"

"You say I don't know enough," Kon said slowly, "so teach me. How to do this. How to be a hero."

Tim eyed him. There was something more going on here; Kon had another motive than looking for entertainment and company. But if Tim refused him now, he'd never know what it was. "All right. If you're serious."

Kon nodded, face solemn. "I am."

"Then your first lesson? Don't blow up buildings."

"Heh. Um, yeah. Got it."

ooooooooo

Kon _was_ getting better. He was still headstrong, he still argued with Tim and looked mutinous every time Tim yelled at him, but he was getting better. Unfortunately, Tim was no closer to finding out Kon's reasons for putting up with the lectures, the fighting, and the all the rest to work in a city he hated. He just hoped he wasn't going to regret this. Teaching an unknown, already powerful Meta how to fight more effectively was past stupid and pushing toward suicidal; Batman would be furious if he knew what Tim was up to. But Tim had made a promise to protect Gotham, no matter what, and that came first, even before his loyalty to Bruce. And right now, deprived of nearly all her protectors, Gotham needed some extra help.

ooooooooo

Kon zip stripped ("Look! It's tape—but it's like not sticky! Except for where it is. Weird, man." "Shut up Kon.") the two already-downed perps and watched as Tim took out the final one with a backwards kick to the jaw. "So, when do I get to learn all the cool Bruce Lee stuff?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "_'That'_ was shokotan karate, not 'Bruce Lee stuff', and since when did you want to learn it, anyways?"

"Mostly since I saw you doing that. It's looks cool. You're all…" Kon pantomimed martial arts. "Hee-yah! Yow! Wah!"

"You look like you're having a seizure while trying to do the chicken dance."

Kon scowled, dropping his arms and straightening, and sniffed. "Well, _fine_, Mr. 'I know so much, I'm a martial arts _expert_'; if you're so good, prove it. I bet you can't beat me in a fair fight."

"Don't use that, that…" Tim searched for a word to describe what he'd felt that first night, "force field thing of yours, and I bet I can."

"Dude, even without it, I'm still way stronger than you. And probably faster."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Do we have a deal, or not?'

Kon laughed. "Okay man, but you're going down. I'll try not to hurt you too bad."

Tim smirked.

ooooooooo

Kon flopped down on his back, a stunned expression on his face. "Dude. I _cannot_ believe you beat me." He moaned and covered his face with his hand. "I just got my ass handed to me by someone who's smaller than most of the _girls_ I date."

Tim rolled his eyes, and fought the urge to smile. "Quit whining."

"I am never going to be able to hold my head up in public again."

"Somehow, I think you'll manage," Tim said dryly "Now get up, we're not done yet."

Kon lifted his head, eyes wide with horror. "There's _more_?"

"_Yes._ Good grief, be thankful it's me training you, not Batman. You wouldn't last two seconds with him."

Kon sighed, and got to his feet. "Yeah, but he's bigger than me."

"Size isn't everything."

Kon gave him a lecherous smile and eyed him up and down. "Yeah, I bet that's what you tell all the girls. That staff supposed to be compensating for something?"

Tim snapped said staff at the back of the kid's knees, and then caught him a blow under the chin as he fell. Tim smirked. "What do you think now?"

Kon glared up at him. "Get up, get up, he says, and then he knocks me right back down."

Tim was starting to grow impatient. Sure, this was… _fun_, but he had work to do. "Are we going to do this or not?"

Kon sighed. "Y'know, I'm not sure. I mean, learning to fight, great, cool, but you're all about," he grinned, "_compensating_ for being a small human, and my big benefit is that I'm totally not. Superstrong, invulnerable, and pretty fast too."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying… you're a martial artist. Maybe what I need to learn is how to brawl. _Without_ massive property damage and giving people concussions."

Tim nodded slowly. "You have a point. But that's not something I can teach you—it's not something I learned."

Kon laughed. "What, Batman doesn't teach his Robins how to box?"

Tim flinched. "He taught one," he said softly, thinking of a case in a dark corner of the cave.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. Look you're probably right. But I can at least teach you how to knock someone out without giving them brain damage."

"Awesome. Let's do it."

ooooooooo

It was an odd partnership. Tim spent a lot of time trying to convince Kon to take this seriously and not show off; Kon spent an equal amount of time teasing both Tim _and_ the criminals, flirting with whoever they saved, and trying to get Tim to lighten up. The result was an odd balance that strangely enough, seemed to work.

And Tim was feeling… surprisingly happy. Batman had still 'ditched' him, Arianna wasn't speaking to him, and Mrs. Mac still looked at him with pity in her eyes, but for once Tim was feeling pretty good about being Robin. He hadn't even realized how lonely he'd been—until he wasn't anymore.

In retrospect, he should have known it wouldn't last.

ooooooooo

Forty stories up, a figure stood in the shadows of a broken window. As the boys parted ways, one by jumpline and one by air, moonlight glinted off of binoculars that turned to follow their actions. When both were out of sight, the figure withdrew further into the building and pulled out a cell phone. "Boss. You ain't gonna like this. Things just got a lot more complicated."


End file.
